Flawless
by Zellie
Summary: *Legolas/Aragorn slash* Strange voices speak only to Legolas, warning him of the waning of elven immortality. Together, he and Aragorn embark on a quest to discover the truth, and each other. Shockingly, this is finished!
1. Remembering

Warning: This story has an Aragorn/Legolas pairing. That means slash. Not yet, really, but it will be later on. Please, if you don't enjoy that sort of thing, don't read it. However, I think the actual plot is more of the focus. So if you're not sure if you like slash, give it a try anyway.

Disclaimer: Creativity plus: I don't own anything. 

A/N: This is a prologue, and hence is prose. It sets the emotional state of everything. While the story is fairly metaphorical et al, it has a real plot! I swear! Time-frame is in the Two Towers somewhere, but doesn't follow the actual storyline.

Please leave a review if you would like me to continue this. I don't know what to write if I don't know what you'd like to read. Thanks!

~*~*~

  
  


"Why are you asking me this, Aragorn?" Legolas asked with a choked laugh. 

"It's hardly sudden. You've been brooding lately. Worrying. Don't think I can't see it. You have fear like everyone, Legolas. Your mask is just tied more securely in place."

"I wear no mask," Legolas protested.

"You must have one fear. Even if it's so slight, so trivial, there must be a single doubt in your mind," Aragorn insisted.

Doubt. //My fear is small. Yet it grows larger because I am afraid that should I say it, my pettiness would appall and sicken you. It makes me ill myself.// Legolas shook his head, his fingers knotting his hair into minuscule braids of their own accord. "I am not so utopian as I may seem, you know," he whispered, voice scarcely cracking out of whisper's realm. "Don't you see, Aragorn?"

Legolas shifted, then touched a hand to the ranger's. One at a time, he peeled Aragorn's fingers from the clenched warmth of his palm. He pressed their hands together, feeling the contrast between each fingerprint, each degree, each bone beneath...

His fingertips warmed against the contact. The flames of the fire heated face and body, and Aragorn briefly pondered how the elf's adept fingers could feel so fragile, so cold under his touch. And yet they burned him, reminded him of her. 

Sacrifice. 

Adherence. 

Insatiable memories. 

Equivocated passion. 

It all left him broken. Not cleanly snapped, but shattered. In Legolas, he could almost garner the shards...

He pulled back.

"You speak of man's weakness, and fear that it runs in your veins. But the elves never speak of what befell them so long ago, by the core of the earth and hell's fire, we swore to never look upon us as them..." Legolas drew back also, his eyes darting for something else to wreath with their attention. "Orcs are elves, Aragorn. I would like to say that even in mutilation, coated in pain and blood I would not fall to darkness. But millions of my people did.

"And here, I grow so vain that I cannot utter another word. You know what I speak of."

Aragorn sighed, "You fear not only the weakness of your past, but of your own immortality and body."

Legolas nodded mutely. He was not without fault. Not without emotion. Not without fear. It was only through time that his scars had healed, and each time the new skin was stronger than before.

Time had healed every imperfection save his own self-pity. 

And each day he bathed in it a moment longer, letting it seep into his skin and soak through his pores. 

"I fear the loss of beauty. The loss of youth. The loss of respect," the elf whispered bitterly. "Time has dealt me such control, that without this I am nothing. And lately..." Legolas got up. He was bleeding, willingly, to this mortal man. Letting his words run rampant and choose their own path. "I must go to sleep. I'm not feeling myself."

"Perchance, you finally are feeling yourself, Legolas," Aragorn said, his voice low and mellifluous as always. It hurt his ears, somehow, to hear it now.

"I feel ill lately. In battle...in everything..." he picked up his bow, running his fingers over the curved mahogany. "And especially when..." he cut himself off. //Especially when I'm with you.// He couldn't bring himself to meet Aragorn's eyes. Everything was falling apart. Merry and Pippin taken captive. Boromir lost in the churning of the rapids. It would break him yet...

"You have one consistency that I would trade all of my immortality for," Legolas said, speaking neither to himself nor to Aragorn, but to Man alone. "You can wither away in sickness, or bleed until you are dry as the sand. But I get sick in one fashion only. I can die of a broken heart. And in that, I am weaker than any creature alive." Turning away, he cursed the impotence that was overtaking him. An elf was susceptible to nothing, so why was his voice so hoarse, and his face so hot? "I'm going." 

//In his dreams the air was colder than usual. He tread upon the snow, lightly and quickly, running far ahead of his mortal companions. The air grew thicker, the wind more raucous, the sky more blinding in its darkness. He squinted ahead, straining to know the future as he always had. But for some reason, this storm blinded his senses along with his eyes.

And then, he sank. 

It felt odd, trudging through the drifts like everyone else.//

  
  


~*~*~


	2. Leaving

A/N: Finally...

I'm so sorry this took so long. And the next part may take longer. It's midterms, what can I say? But they're over in two weeks, so then I'll be way faster. Wish me luck, I'm super stressed. *sob* Anyway, as for the plot: I actually have some. Besides that, the romance will be slow. I like to try to make is semi-realistic, so it has to be gradual. So as for now, it's balancing on friendship. Close friendship...Just bear with me.

Other then that, thanks for reviewing, please keep it up! That's why I did this part at all, I was gonna wait till my midterms were over. But everyone was all nice so I had to write more. By the way, my HTML coding is messed up and won't do italics. That's why I do // for thinking and dreams. Sorry if the formatting is confusing because of that.

Oh, and I'm not bothering with any warnings or disclaimer, you can see prior chapters if it's that enthralling to you.

  
  
  
  


He was not reaching for solace. Really, he just wanted to speak. For despite his endless prowess with a bow, he rarely said anything particularly worth while, and had yet to let a single tear fall in front of his companions. It was simple relief to have the ring far away from him. He could hide it better than the others, but it tempted him. He wanted it. Knew what he wanted to do with it. So it was relief that it was gone.

Something, though, was pulling at him. He aimed his bow and watched as it pierced the orc's skull, watched as the body crashed to the ground.

"Do you feel guilty?"

Legolas turned, aiming again, "Aragorn," he acknowledged. He did not answer the question. Why would he feel guilty? "How do you think Saruman managed to breed such an army? Such a massive wealth of destruction and chaos?" He shot the arrow, not even breaking a sweat.

"I know not," said Aragorn, just as lithe as Legolas in his fighting, but using far more effort. To him, it was not monotonous as it was for Legolas. It was skill. It was proof of strength. 

"I have heard whispers from Lothlorien-" Legolas cut himself off, breathing in, "Ones you cannot hear. They are like breaths in my ears, and yet they scream to me."

Aragorn sheathed his sword, the last of the small herd of orcs falling under its blade. "Legolas." He touched the elf's hand, but Legolas pulled back abruptly. 

"I do not need comfort," he snapped.

Aragorn cocked his head, running his finger over the hilt at his waist, "What do they tell you?"

"They speak only in verse. Of self-annihilation, of defeat, and of need," Legolas whispered, his dulcet voice almost cracking, "And I'm weary of it. They taunt me, speaking of man's ascension and the elves' fall from grace."

"What could they be?" Aragorn murmured, his voice level, barely above a whisper.

Legolas shook his head, "Who knows? But I can understand one thing they speak of. And that's names. Every once in a while, a name. Clear, as if someone was whispering in my ear. And all names of elves." He felt his hand trembling slightly, and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Lowered his voice so that if his friend was not listening carefully, he could confuse it with a breath of wind. "They tell me of their deaths, Aragorn."

Aragorn moved his lips as if he'd tasted something bitter, "Surely, Legolas...you realize that elves...cannot die..."

"What are you two speaking of, in such somber tones?" asked Gimli, wandering over and wiping his forehead. "We must hurry, we have to rescue the halflings."

Legolas shook himself. He needn't answer the question. He never did. His head snapped up and he cloaked himself in his eternal vale of perfection. "Of course, let's make haste."

With every person he met he grew more alone.

  
  


The night was blacker than it had ever seemed before. He'd stood watch, humming elven ballads to himself many a night, and yet none had ever seemed so incessantly black. And in some part of him, he felt scared. Almost 3000 years, and there was still so much he didn't know. Could the world really be so vast that infinity couldn't map its course?

Legolas prided himself on the absolute stealth with which he moved. He was a fluid melting the frost on the ground, not even cracking the thin layer of ice that knelt on the deepest drifts of snow. 

He couldn't even hear his own breath, though his heart seemed to be pounding like thunder in is ears. 

Suddenly, there was the inevitable sensation steel against his throat. The blade moved effortlessly across his pale skin. He felt it so faintly that it was almost pleasure, but the thin line of blood left behind reprimanded him. 

"Going somewhere?" 

Legolas realized he'd shut his eyes. He glared upwards, expecting a barrage or a dagger pointed at his chest. But all he saw was Aragorn, his face taut and unreadable. "I knew it was you," the elf quipped half-heartedly. His fingers darted to his throat, where Aragorn's sword had etched the skin and then shaded it with blood. It didn't anger him.

"I thought you would owe it to us to say something, Legolas. Gimli and I have been traveling with you for quite a time now. Yet I know you were not fleeing," the ranger murmured abstractly. Most would have read the tone as being almost remiss. But Legolas had always been attentive, always reading between the lines. 

"My duty lies elsewhere now. I'm sorry," he avoided Aragorn's eyes. "Yours is with the halflings. I did not wish to awaken you." His words were tenuous before even leaving his lips.

"You were just going to leave? So that come tomorrow, we'd awake and you'd be gone. Never to cross paths again."

Legolas winced. "We would meet again. I had no doubt of that, or I'd not have left. But come, Aragorn, I must leave. I'll travel more swiftly by night." The meticulous words failed to sound as slack as he wished them to. And in that, the entire forest might as well have been penetrating his skin and bone, and ripping it all back for laughs. A part of his conscience tore from his mind, beseechingly asking, pointing, scoffing, //And what is to be seen? There is only emptiness. And that is nothing new.// 

Legolas' eyes strayed to Aragorn's hand which was clasping a feather with a pointed tip. He arched an eyebrow in question and nodded to the man's clenched fingers.

Aragorn shrugged, "I was writing."

"I didn't know you wrote, Aragorn," said Legolas delicately.

"I write if duty ordains me to write." He took a step closer to Legolas. "I was leaving a letter for Gimli. An apology," he said, his voice strained.

Legolas bit his lip, unconsciously entwining his fingers with Aragorn's. The quill was still tipped in ink. His voice was tremulous, his words lingered in the air and then faded in wisps of darkness. "And what did it say?"

Aragorn raised Legolas' hand until it was inches from his face. Carefully, he moved the quill across Legolas' palm, barely scratching the skin. "It said that I trusted him with all of my soul, and knew he would deliver Merry and Pippin. That I would meet him again, and that I wasn't running." Legolas turned his hand over, reading the slanted script running over the plains of his palm, "I cannot leave you".

He looked up at Aragorn, unsure why such a benevolent act of friendship left him with such suffering within. Friendship. Such a narrow, vague term. But then, aren't all words? His mind continued to jog along its route. About why staring at this man whom he'd shared such bitterness and pain with was suddenly hurting more than any of the quests or cuts had, the slashes or scars. He meant to be biting in his reply, to make Aragorn realize he didn't want him, didn't need him. But his words came out sounding desperate, as if all they wished to do was choke him before the man could hear them. "You mustn't, Aragorn." The ranger made no move to leave, so Legolas switched tactics. "You cannot keep with my pace, and I am in a hurry."

"Then I will not sleep. I pledge my life to those who need me, and if Saruman is harming anyone to create those hideous minions of his, that too is my obligation."

"That's why you're coming? You're following me, walking on the very coals of hell, because I've some premonition? Some fatuous gut instinct that something's wrong?"

Aragorn nodded, "I will follow wherever you lead, Legolas. Elves are seldom wrong."

He fell from torment into guilt, from guilt into submission. "It is not so long a journey, and we shall not rest often. Take food, water, salve and your sword. We need nothing more."

"I do not think the fellowship has broken," Aragorn said roughly. "Only become more compact."

Legolas nodded in resignation. "We need nothing more," he repeated, stalwart. "Nothing more than friendship."


	3. Discovering

A/N: That took forever, I apologize. Not much to say here, finally some UST and such...I'm still attempting to be fairly realistic. I don't know if it's working...If you want me to continue, leave a review. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! Keep it up! 

And if anyone wants to chat, e-mail me! 

  
  


Legolas couldn't remember ever having been so cold before. He walked over the snow almost precariously, with none of his usual confidence that he wouldn't exert enough pressure to break it. His dreams had him skittish. Aragorn had him more so. 

And for the life of him, he didn't know why.

Part of him said that he should stop for the mortal, who was twice as cold as he, twice as hungry, twice as tired. Show him the compassion that he has showed you. And yet, he contradicted himself immediately. Aragorn knew it would be this way. Aragorn knew how determined you were. He knew it would be like this. Knew it. Accepted it. Maybe even wanted it.

But he was so cold. Shivers trilled down his spine.

"We'll stop here," Legolas said sharply. Aragorn nodded curtly. They took shelter under a towering tree, almost shielded from the snow drifting down around them. 

"You're cold, Legolas."

It wasn't even a question. Legolas shook his head, brushing some snowflakes from his hair. "I'm not. I only stopped because you were shivering visibly, Aragorn."

"And yet you said you would not let me slow you down. You, too, were shivering. Walking behind you I could still see that."

"I am not cold." 

Aragorn sighed, leaning against the base of the tree, "You are always, to me."

Inside, Legolas flinched. But he would not show it. Then, a voice. Once again, hovering by his ear, sensually breathing words that were not sounds more than breaths. A name. He realized that a new one was added to the list each night. Two weeks since the dreams and voices had begun to speak. He closed his eyes, trying to focus. He could not hear every sound if he listened hard. It was only by being distant, seeing the entire phrase, that he could discern some amount of meaning. And then, the voice was clear, and close, and unbelievably corporeal. "Legolas."

His eyes snapped open.

"It is alright to be cold. Denial cannot hide shame."

That voice was not in his head. He turned, "You do not need to whisper, Aragorn." The man was so close. He found himself hoping he was warming from his own body, rather than the blush that was suffusing his face. "It makes me quite paranoid." 

"Do I make you nervous, Legolas?"

The elf was silent. 

"I will take silence for consent."

"Don't," said Legolas, "It is merely my choosing not to answer."

"You're trembling again," Aragorn pointed out. Steadily, as if Legolas would jump at any sudden movement, he pulled Legolas closer and casually draped an arm over his shoulder. Legolas tensed but did not pull away as his body commanded him to. 

It was so quiet. No ferment, no hostilities, no blood. It seemed like they constantly littered his mind lately. But this was cold, and relieving, and tangible. And it embraced him, if only for a moment. He could forget. Forget that just like everything in his life, it too would pass and disappear. And far along the road he'd forget it, simply because his new memories would crowd it out. 

But, for now, he should savor it. So quiet...

And as he slept, he had no dreams.

  
  


"Wake up, Aragorn. Come, we must hurry. We've slept for hours...Don't know what I was thinking..."

Aragorn blinked, the snow crunching beneath him, coated in a layer of ice. Legolas was already awake, his clothing immaculate, his hair pulled back into a lissom braid, away from his face. Aragorn moaned softly. //We've been sleeping for hours. How dreadful,// he thought sardonically. He really wanted to plead for a few more minutes. But he'd known that Legolas did not often rest and he did not want to become a burden. Mortal or not, he would not succumb to its stereotypical frailty. "It's odd, how you sleep with your eyes open," he remarked, fastening his cloak around his shoulders.

Legolas shrugged, "Just because it's not what you do does not make it odd. It's merely different." Absently, he rubbed his eyes. "My eyes sting though. Funny..." His voice, Aragorn noted, held none of the buoyancy of his words. "We'll walk until we reach the edge of the forest and then break again. It shouldn't be more than a day or so."

"Only a day or so," Aragorn said archly. "Really, Legolas, don't trouble yourself on my account. Resting so frequently is just ludicrous."

Legolas glared, a smirk tugging at the corner's of his mouth. 

Suddenly, Aragorn lowered his voice, his tone becoming more serious. "Have you noticed? We've seen hardly any orcs in all this time. Just that couple heading for Mordor as we are."

The elf nodded smugly, "They were easy to dispatch of, so off-guard."

"But don't you find it suspicious? We used to fight them in droves only weeks ago. And since, they've gradually been thinning. We were not on watch last night, and nothing happened! It was not luck."

"Coincidence, then," said Legolas tritely.

"It was not that, either."

"I'm hardly in the mood to debate this, Aragorn. Let's go." Legolas gathered some twigs for kindling and slipped them into his quiver with his arrows. 

"I think it would be quite useful to be immortal," said Aragorn cooly, "For then I might possibly have enough time to figure you out." He sighed heavily, and the pair began walking again. 

  
  


Legolas clenched and unclenched his hand, aware of the pain that ebbing in and out of his fingertips. His joints felt stiff, and he constantly bounded ahead to keep his speed and grace apparent. Why was he was so self-conscious? He berated himself. It wasn't like Aragorn would think less of him for freezing in this sub-zero weather. Would he? The elf quickened his pace mechanically. 

It had stopped snowing hours ago, but grey clouds still ribbed the sky in an almost intimidating fashion. Aragorn sighed wearily, mumbling under his breath. He was becoming quite bored, with Legolas being so silent and touchy. The man leaned against a pine tree nonchalantly, waiting for Legolas to realize that he's stopped.

"Aragorn, move," the elf called back, turning around and walking towards him.

Aragorn stretched, "I can't hear you, Legolas. What was that?"

He could almost hear Legolas cursing in elvish. Standing a foot away from Aragorn, Legolas' voice was irritated and crisp, "I said I don't have time fo-!" 

Just then Aragorn sharply backed into the tree, causing snow to tumble from its branches, entombing Legolas but only dusting himself. The elf gave a dignified cough as he shook it out of his hair and turned his quiver upside down, shaking it. He had never felt so cold and wet before. He had never felt so thoroughly annoyed. And yet, he couldn't remember ever having felt so alive. "That was really mature, Aragorn."

The ranger smirked, "Quite."

"You realize that I have to come up with something just as clever to avenge myself, now?"

"I do."

"So long as you're prepared. How about I shoot you with an arrow?" The elf strung his bow, arching an eyebrow. Aragorn shrugged, "Rather uncreative."

Letting the string go lax, Legolas feigned an expression of dejectedness. "Is it? Alright, how about this?" Without any warning he leapt at Aragorn, sending them both sprawling the ground. With a laugh, Legolas straddled him, resting an elbow on the man's chest. His voice was almost coquettish as he taunted, "Got you."

The moment flickered in Legolas' mind. Suddenly, it was hardly a mindless game. Aragorn's voice was scarcely above a whisper as he said, "You certainly did."

Faintly, Legolas rebutted himself for breathing so heavily. It was not like an elf to feel his heart pounding so hard, his breath coming in pants, his face flushing with the slightest amount of exertion. He jerked his head up, craning past Aragorn. "Oh!" he exclaimed, getting off of the man in one swift movement, cat-like.

Aragorn rolled over and stood up. A trail of blood led deeper into the woods, blue, red and mottled like that of an orcs'. "What could it be?"

Legolas shook his head, his brow furrowing. "I don't know." He stepped forward very slowly, following the path of blood which gradually thickened, darkening the white snow. And there, at the end lay an orc, leaning against a tree.

"He is dead," said Legolas kneeling down. "Stabbed." He pulled a small dagger from the orc's chest and pocketed it. The wound was fresh, but old enough that the bleeding had stopped. "I wonder who did it." The elf pursed his lips, "I'm taking his arrows. We don't need his armor, and he has no nourishment with him." He paused.

"What's this?"

Around the orc's neck hung a vile, suspended on a thin coil of rope. It wasn't large, but it looked as if the glass had splintered. In the very bottom part there was a small puddle of water, lucid and almost metallic in its consistency. 

Aragorn reached towards it but Legolas grabbed his wrist. "Don't touch it. Do you not recognize it?" Legolas bit his lip, snapping the cord around the orc's neck and pouring this bit of remaining liquid onto the snow. It emitted a few sparks, and then dissolved, sizzling. "This...this is of Galadriel's mirror. I have seen it with my own eyes."

"Why would a demon like this have anything so pure?" asked Aragorn. "How could he get some?"

Transfixed, Legolas whispered, "He cannot. This makes no sense." He got up and began to run, motioning hurriedly for Aragorn to follow.

"Legolas," Aragorn called, "That's the wrong way!"

"No," yelled the elf, "We are going to see Galadriel. Keep up. This time, we will not rest at all."


	4. Talking

A/N: Updating at my usual, excellent speed. Sorry! Bear with me, this is a lot of speculation and character development. Same warnings apply as always. On a side note, the next part finally has an at least semi-slashy scene. I hope that's good...

Here's my thank you list: Thanks for the great reviews, I really appreciate it! Especially Ryka, thanks for the advice and feedback, and Riley for the super sweet review (your stories are great). And AJ Matthews (love your stories), Krad, Kelly, Laorin (Glad you enjoyed it even though it's slash) and Crimson Productions. Sorry anyone I missed! I'll write a long one some time.

So keep an eye out, and keep reviewing if you want more. It's what keeps the story going ^_^

  
  


"I was often told of Galadriel's mirror. Upon looking at it, you can see anything. Anything that needs to be seen. The Lady of the Woods is not one for speaking, and yet I clearly recall her only warning: Do not touch the water. And never have I questioned that. It comes from a fountain quite like any other. You cannot be burned by water." Legolas turned the vile over in his hand, running his fingers over the broken glass. "So what is this feeling within me?"

"Unease?" Aragorn suggested. 

"I've been in far more dire straits, Aragorn, than this. It cannot be..." he trailed off. "I feel no malaise, I promise you. Elves do not feel-"

"Legolas, I do not care if you are an elf. I do not judge you on your race. I do not find your emotions to be your weakness. And while I am not asking you to try and be a man," Aragorn lowered his gaze, suddenly finding the ground quite enthralling, "I ask that you try to be real. There is no perfection, not even in elves."

"I feel like I do not know anyone, even having lived for 3000 years. I don't know the world, I don't know you, I don't even knew myself lately. If ever I did." His tone was lingering and open, leading into more narrow passes. Slowly, Legolas asked, "Tell me, Aragorn. Are you in love with Lady Arwen?"

The man was silent for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was abject and flat, "I try to forget. If I dwell on such utopian fantasies-love and beauty and an ending for every start...Then I must possess them. Wherever, however I can." He looked somewhere past Legolas, his eyes piercing and elegiac. And then the look was gone, and once again he was weary and mortal and concrete.

Shrugging, Legolas said, "And I am just the opposite. For each start, I fear the end. Because for every action, no matter how pleasurable or painful, I know it will be over. And eventually I shall forget it. But if it does not start it cannot end. It cannot be experienced and I cannot forget it."

"If it does not end, there can never be another," Aragorn said resignedly. "I cannot define words with words. It would be all but meaningless, and love is hardly that."

"Isn't it?" asked Legolas, "Every attraction begins with beauty, every love must come from some attraction. Is that not shallow?"

"I never knew you were such a pessimist," said Aragorn, evading a direct answer with practiced ease. If a wound is raw it is best to let it heal by itself. Touching it will only worsen the infection. Not that it matters that much. It's always the pain that really matters. Let the wound fester and bleed. So long as it does not hurt, you will not notice. All but fleetingly, Aragorn realized that he hadn't once met the elf's gaze during their exchange.

"We'll be at Lothlorien soon and you can rest," said Legolas suddenly. "You do know you've cut yourself?"

Aragorn reached instinctively for his face, running a forefinger over his cheek. There was a narrow cut, barely more than a scratch. Must've gotten snagged on a low hanging branch or something of the sort.

"You should clean it," said the elf.

Aragorn blotted it with his cloak, still walking, "It can heal itself, I assure you."

  
  


Around midday the sun began to filter through the canopy of leaves, which was growing ever more lush around the two. The leaves rustled in a lyrical rhythm, humming a ballad without a melody. It was growing ever more obvious that Lothlorien was close by. Aragorn was practically panting in his attempt to keep up with Legolas' scenic route through the woods, by which he was leaping across streams and even mounting small trees on occasion.

"Legolas, I think you're doubling our time by doing that," Aragorn called out to him, halting to catch his breath. "I fail to see the logic in going over the trees rather than under them."

"It makes me feel so light to be above the trees," Legolas replied, his voice filtering through the leaves.

And nothing more.

He didn't say half of what his words insinuated. //By feeling light, I do not feel heavy. In heaviness, I feel depressed. And in depression, I feel myself growing hot with fever. I cannot afford to fall ill because of my own emotions. Not now.//

"It's impractical," retorted Aragorn."You cannot see from there, Legolas."

"I can see everything I need to see." Legolas peered over the endless strip of leaves, sky and light. That was enough. It always had been enough.

"Hardly. For I am standing but a few feet from the entrance to Lothlorien."

Graceful as ever, Legolas was next to Aragorn. He gave the man a wry shove and then ran ahead. He did not need to be tousled at this point.

Aragorn ran after him with a smirk tugging at his lips, "Are we going to see Galadriel right away?" he asked, catching up.

"Just to let her know of our arrival. I'm sure you're tired and need some rest." Yet Aragorn could not help but note that the elf absently wiped his forehead, panting silently. Suddenly, he stopped. Around them, the trees spiraled into the sky. Waterfalls cascaded over rocks, smoothing the edges to the point where they were nonexistent, only curves and mellow dips. Spires of mist permeated the air from the crystalline waters.

And it was perfect, to all those who chose to believe in such ideals.

"Pretty," said Legolas, craning his neck to take in as much as possible.

"Lovely," agreed Aragorn, stopping as well. "Where do you suppose Lady Galadriel would be?"

"In front of you." 

Galadriel stepped forward, looking as radiant as ever. She arched an eyebrow at the man and elf. "Welcome. I did not expect you to be here at so small an hour."

Legolas knelt on one knee, "My lady, we have left our quest in order to seek your guidance. I have many questions, and answers have been scarce."

"I'm sure. Come and rest yourselves, and we shall speak in the morning." She turned to go, but paused when Legolas spoke again.

"If it's no trouble, may I sleep outdoors tonight?"

Galadriel smiled, her eyes and tone sibylline as ever, "I thought you might wish to. Of course, you may."

Legolas did an accomplished, sweeping bow. "Many thanks for your hospitality."

"I too, will stay outside tonight," said Aragorn.

"I did not doubt it. Then, I'll leave you two until dawn. You will know where to find me." She nodded to them both, and in her usual, surreal fashion glided away.

And neither saw her draw a tenuous, relieved breath as she passed

  
  


The air of Lothlorien was not tainted by the elements. It was untouched by civilization. It was free from any harm. A sanctuary bred in the depths of Middle Earth. So it was with no trepidation that Aragorn and Legolas lay down on the silken mosses of the forest, blissfully and purposefully unaware of anything. And that, for the moment, was fine.

"I don't know what to think now," murmured Legolas, "I don't know if this was all in vain; if I've betrayed my duties to my whims. Yet this mystery leads me in ever deeper. Look here," He took out the glass vial. "Take this, and break it."

Aragorn took it and turned it over, "It is already broken. We will need it to show to Galadriel." 

"Go on. I swear to you, no harm will come to it."

"It is only glass, Legolas. It will shatter easily." With a shrug, he struck the small ampule on a rock, hard. And beneath the force a few fragments of stone chipped away, leaving not so much as a scratch on the glass. "Elvish?" Aragorn suggested.

"I'd think so, save the fact that it is already broken. And quite well, at that. I do not think that anyone could break this by force."

Aragorn closed his eyes, "Legolas."

"Hm?"

"Stop talking. Just forget for a moment."

Legolas shook his head, "I cannot."

"Alas, the irony."

"How so?"

"You have eternity ahead of you. You could ponder this for months and not make a dent in your lifetime. My life is waning by the day, yet I'm the one telling you to slow down." 

"But I..." He flinched, that verdant, wispy voice sounding in his ear again. That same list of names. And one more. And for the briefest of moments, he feared hearing his own name. He hesitated, and then asked charily, "Do you hear anything, Aragorn?"

"Nothing. It's never been so quiet."

Legolas nodded, tossing his head, listening. Indeed, he had never heard such silence. It made him yearn to forget everything in the vacancy of space. To hear nothing ever again, except for Aragorn's idle and complacent words. And he didn't even want to understand them suddenly. He just wanted to hear this lovely nothingness washing over him. The assuaging solace that someone was speaking to him, yet nothing was being said.

"Never mind. I hear nothing now." He lay down as well, hands crossed beneath his head. Leaves spiraled from the trees, spry and graceful in the still air. "I never realized how quickly the seasons change. The minutes. The sun. Everything. It all changes, doesn't it? I can't even tell day to day, but when I compare year to year...It's all changed. But you know what? I haven't changed at all."

"And would you want to?"

Legolas paused, "Yes. I can only measure time against what happens to those around me. For me, time is nonexistent. Do you realize that? It's not even a concept. If not for those around me who do live day by day. If not for you." He bit his lip, fishing for words, "I realized, the other day...You said you'd never leave me. But there's no never, Aragorn."

"Not for you. But there is for me."

"I hate that," he gave an abrupt laugh. "I think I'm jealous of you. You and your mortality that allows you to savor and appreciate life."

"I only relish life because of what's in it. Not because one day it will end." He turned his head to the side, regarding Legolas warily. "You have to find that yourself."

Legolas narrowed his eyes and said simply, "Do not patronize me." He turned to Aragorn, his eyes flickering with some nonexistent emotion, his voice jagged and cut, "More and more I hear of man's ascension. And more and more I think that it is not the dwarves I should be at odds with, but with men. Men, who despite their weakness, have something I never will." He met Aragorn's eyes, seeing cognition and sadness and control and...

"Never pity me," he finished, "Because I do not have the perfection to merit it."


	5. Fading

A/N: This part has definite slash. That's your warning, because there hasn't been much until now. If you want more romance please tell me. I don't know if people are reading this because of the plot, or the L/A more. So let me know, 'kay? Secondly, this part is bizarre and leaves a lot of open ends and questions. They'll all be answered later on, promise. Enjoy, and as always review to keep it going!

  
  
  
  


The grove was shaded and cool, even with the sun beating down mercilessly on everything else. It existed as a separate realm, undeterred by what coincidentally was occurring in reality. Galadriel filled her jug with water, then emptied it. Full, now empty. Pour in, pour out. Full, empty. Full, empty. Full...

She let it drop, floating on the fountain's surface, then slowing sinking as the liquid seeped into it. 

"Lady Galadriel?"

She turned, very slowly, as she always did when she was taken off guard. It was too predictable to whirl on her heels. "Legolas. I was not expecting you tonight. I'm rather tired."

The elf nodded, taking another step, apologetically wetting his lips. "I couldn't sleep. Would it be possible to talk now?"

For a moment, Galadriel stood still, her face pensive and masked. Despite her gentle demeanor, Legolas felt hunted and appraised. She stalked him. His emotions. Everything. And then, quite naturally, "I don't see why not. Where is your companion?"

"I did not wish him to be here," Legolas said, tight-lipped. "He doesn't understand anything. As a mortal, he's shallow."

"Indeed?" asked Galadriel. "He did not seem it to me."

Legolas brushed this aside, reaching into his tunic and pulling out the phial. Galadriel arched a single eyebrow, almost skeptic, but said nothing. "I found this strung on the neck of an orc, broken as you see it now. But when I tried to break it, nothing happened."

She beckoned him closer, then gently slid the vial from his grip. "And why have you come to me?"

"In it...in it...there were traces...traces of your water. Your mirror," said Legolas. The night felt cooler and more brisk, like the wind had finally penetrated the thick curtain of leaves above them. 

"Have you ever looked in my fountain?"

Legolas cocked his head. Galadriel's thoughts were so cryptic at times that he could hardly follow from one word to the next. Her thoughts breeched the gap from her mind to her lips, but left open the chasms of the conversations about her. Slowly, he murmured, "No. Should I?"

"Everyone should gaze in the mirror, if the chance presents itself." She took his hand, leading him to the pool. She reached in and pulled out the silvern jug, the droplets catching on its metallic service even with no light to reflect them. Vaguely, Legolas was aware of the fact that she was still clutching his other hand in hers; a mix of desperation and uncertainty in the grip. 

Suddenly, she jerked on his hand, plunging it into the water. Legolas didn't make a sound as his voice worked to express the bizarre immersion he was feeling. It felt almost gelatinous to the touch, cold and smooth. If it were a symphony it would play legato, if it were a drink it would be the sweetest wine, with the most bitter aftertaste. Galadriel let go of his hand, stepping backwards, her face a mask.

Legolas stumbled backwards. His hand felt clammy and sweaty and sticky and dry and wet and dirty and cleansed and...

Everything. All at once. A wave of nausea passed over him. He was sad and mournful and enthusiastic and furious and happy and cool and lustful and...

His hand hurt. That sort of dull ache from walking in the dead of winter and rolling snowballs with your bare hands. 

Galadriel turned to him, deliberately slow. She had a golden chain dangling from the tip of one finger, a vial on the end of it. She unscrewed the top of the tube, then dipped it under the waterfall, filling it. Moments passed as the water ran into the vial, all the time bubbling over the sides and more filled it. Galadriel took it away and put the cork back on. A lucid, thick liquid filled it, looking like molten silver, scintillescent as it caught off the darkness.

Voice shaky, Legolas murmured, "How did you repair...?" He felt drained and naked. The cove was fluctuating, its peace warped. The elf sank to his knees, trembling. 

"I repaired nothing. That vial was of no use to me, smashed as it was. A broken bottle holds nothing but air."

"But...why would you have...another of...?" He felt so cold, and yet so passionate. Everything he was feeling was being placed under a lens and magnified.

Galadriel smiled, her eyes holding none of their usual light. Legolas wondered how she could seem so dimmed yet so sharpened at the same time. She began to walk, circling him, scrutinizing him. "Sometimes, I feel regret for what was done to our people so long ago. That they were mutilated. That they fell. And became those...creatures. Does it not hurt you, that you are slaughtering your people, Legolas? In essence, murdering your ancestors, as revolting as they may be, in cold blood?"

"I must. They are...not..." he panted, his voice husky, "Not who...they were. They are not elves. They are..."

"I have seen it. How single arrow flies, killing them so quickly. How hundreds fall beneath your lethal blade. Have you no pity?"

Legolas winced, clutching his stomach, "I...have no need for...it." But suddenly, he did. Much more now than ever before.

"You have an advantage. You...you have immortality. It is not fair. It's not right! Always..." her hand trembled as she clutched the chain of the vial. "Always, we fight with honor. Above all else, it is revered."

He looked up at her, his breath still heavy and choked, "Galadriel...you..."

And she wasn't Galadriel. She was not noble. She was not fair. She was not resigned and aesthetic. He let out a dry sob, "Avarice. I see it...in your eyes..."

"You see nothing that was not there, Legolas," she whispered, tossing her head. "I was blinded by ideals. I was blinded by mere complexions. And for that I must atone. So many orcs, dead. So many elves, in that, dead." She smirked, calculating and cold. "It is not enough for them to feed on the flesh of men. They need something with substance, to keep them as alien as they are. And that is why they must drink of elfin immortality. So that their power never wanes, and their strength never dies."

Legolas felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him like water. Galdriel shook her head, patronizing him like a child. "My water. One must never touch it..." she sighed, stopping her leisurely pacing. 

"I have heard names..." Legolas said imploringly, still slouched over the ground.

Galadriel knelt over him, tipping his face up to hers. "And tonight, you will hear your own, my prince." She fastened the ampule about her neck so that it dangled above her breasts. "I thank you for your life's essence. It will go to one who has suffered far more pain than you, I promise."

"Galdriel!" he gasped. "You...you can't...you were..."

"Flawless?"

He shook his head, "No one is. But you...were as close as one comes..."

"Yes," she whispered, "I was."

  
  


He was so cold. So hungry. So tired. And so bitter.

"Legolas?"

The elf looked up with a start. He wrapped his arms more tightly around himself, shielding himself from Aragorn. No. Don't look. You don't know...

"Leave me alone," he breathed. And he was scared.

Aragorn knelt next to him, "Where is Lady Galadriel? Why did you leave without telling me?"

"Shut up," Legolas whispered, no vehemence in his harsh words, "You dare...you dare...to live this way? How can you...can you..." 

If he was not so weak, he'd have cried.

Aragorn put one hand on his shoulder, "Legolas, what is this? Tell me. If you found no answers, we'll go to Rivendell next, if you wish. We'll..."

"Rivendell?" Legolas echoed. The ranger gave a faint, consolatory nod. "And what might we find there?" His voice was more raw then Aragorn had ever heard it; his words were moreso. "I doubt that we will find answers in Rivendell. But we'll find solace, right? At least you will. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Aragorn drew back, "I don't know what you speak of."

"Do you not want to go back to Arwen? You know she's an elf, Aragorn. And you are only a mortal. Tell me, why do you love her? Why do you want to go back to her so badly?" He pushed himself up, facing the man. His eyes flashed, accusatory.

"Legolas..." Aragorn whispered, finding his voice caught in his throat, without the wit to lubricate his words.

"Is it not her beauty? Her immortality? Do you see her for a woman, or for an accolade of your charm? Elves are so sacred. Consecrated, almost. Do you desire her now? Or do you just want what everyone does?" Legolas licked cracked lips, "To grasp eternity. To hold perfection, tangible in your hands."

Aragorn opened his mouth to protest. And the words...

They wouldn't come.

Legolas ran a single finger down the man's chest, "Do you love her?" He stepped close. "If you were with her now...just imagine..." 

"Le..." Aragorn murmured, but it came out as a muted protestation.

"Would you feel..." Legolas breathed, his voice subdued and irresistibly inquiring, "Her hands touching you?" He wound his arms around Aragorn's neck, tracing the man's dry lips with a single finger. 

"Her voice speaking to you?" He leaned in closer, cornering Aragorn against a thick barked tree.

"Her skin under your caress?" Aragorn moaned slightly as Legolas pressed against him, tantalizingly deliberate, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"Her lips...kissing you?" he finally breathed out, staring straight at Aragorn. The man tilted back his head, letting his eyes flutter closed; guilt and deprivation, hunger and want ravishing him all at once. 

And then he was slammed back against the tree, Legolas tightly grasping his shirt in his fist. He could feel the pressure and abrasiveness of the tree behind him, the splinters digging into his back. Legolas' slender fingers clenched almost painfully into the coarse fabric, threatening against his skin. But more than that he could feel the wrath emanating from Legolas. The choler, the fury, the ire, the pain...

The regret.

"I'm not her. Where do you get the clout to fall in love? Where do you get the superiority to see everything I've seen a million times only once? Where do you get the courage to feel these futile, wrenching emotions every damn day?"

He slumped to the ground. God, he hated himself. It was beyond hate. He loathed. He despised. It was sickening.

Aragorn was still leaning against the tree, his breathing a mix of craving, fear and concern. He dropped to the ground. "Legolas."

"Stop it! Stop...looking...stop...pitying..."

"I'm not," Aragorn said flatly. "It's alright. Just...tell me, please..."

"Don't you understand, Aragorn? I'm not immortal! I will wither and fade and no one will remember me! I grow tired, and I grow hungry, and I grow vain...And yet you seek to tell me that it's alright? I don't want solace, damn it!" He crossed his arms over his chest, drawing up his knees. Galadriel. She was the epitome of purity. And yet she was the one who stripped him of his own innocence, raping his soul. His immortality was...

"This was everything," he breathed. 

Aragorn shook his head, "I do not understand. But I swear to you, this will not go unpunished. In the morning we'll set out. As soon as the sun rises. And for now, we'll sleep on it." He sunk to the ground with a luxurious stretch.

Legolas inched closer, leaning against him, "I'm tired, Aragorn."

Blearily he blinked his eyes before drifting off to sleep.

His last intelligible thought was that his eyes, for once, were closed.


	6. Weakening

A/N: This took extremely long to post, and I really do apologize. And everyone was so sweet, thank you for all of the feedback last time, glad you're enjoying it. This starts off lighter and gets dark and just plain bizarre/depressing at the end. It's like me! I seriously need therapy, I got hysterical crying twice today for two different reasons! I hate highschool. Ah, fun ^_^ 

Okay...anyway...I don't know what to say... make me happy by reviewing! 

  
  


"Men have some foolish ideas," Legolas said, walking slowly beside Aragorn. Somehow, Lothlorien's normal celestial fantasia had been drowned out. It was quiet and bare, and held none of its usual comfort. The steady, rhythmic monotone of their footsteps filled the air. It hurt, to even tread here. But he could not leave until he had answers. "Did you ever notice? Sometime, if you're distraught, they try to comfort you by telling you of their misfortune in the past. It's as if you're saying: I was miserable as well. Doesn't that overjoy you? Aren't you absolutely thrilled that I too have suffered?"

Aragorn sighed, "I wasn't going to do that, Legolas."

"Then don't bring up these infelicitous recollections of your youth. I don't want to hear them."

"I was thinking," he bit out, his nerves frayed. It was debatable as to whether Legolas' immortality had suppressed his emotions and this was his veritable nature, or if he was simply touchy because of his ill-fortune. Either way, Aragorn was quickly joining him in his irritation. He would have quite preferred it if Legolas would have cried or whispered or poured his soul into the man's palm, pleading for comfort. Then he could have held him and soothed him and pitied him. But this, //this// was just aggravating. 

"I'm tired."

"Legolas, this is the third time this hour you've been tired."

The elf flinched openly, lowering his voice, "I can't help it."

"Mortality doesn't make you that weak."

There was a substantial pause before Legolas said, "I think I'm catching a fever. I'm burning up. And I'm starving."

"You wouldn't be hungry if you were getting ill, Legolas."

Another pause. He gave a dramatized shiver, "I'm cold."

"You just said you had a fever," Aragorn strained to keep his voice level. "You have a really low opinion of men, don't you?"

"No. I just have a high opinion of elves," Legolas snapped. He bit his lip, then gave a hollow laugh; acute and harsh. "I never realized what a child I am. I throw myself into the fray, claiming strength and victory. But the moment I taste blood on my tongue..." he trailed off. "The moment I...taste..." A shudder trilled through his body. He cleared his throat, the haziness gone from his eyes. "I realize now, why the glass wouldn't break. Nothing living can break it. When the orc was stabbed, the glass shattered. It contained his life, so when his life broke so did it. Ingenious, isn't it?" 

"Quite," Aragorn said wryly. 

"Why? Why did she do it?" 

Aragorn sighed, "Somehow, I do not think Lady Galadriel would fall of her own will."

"You weren't there. It was her choice. Only hers." He clenched his hands into fists. "I'll avenge this...I'll....if I could..."

Aragorn winced as he saw a thin line of blood coming from Legolas' hands, his nails puncturing the skin. "Legolas, don't do that."

"Leave me alone! You don't care, do you? That I'm mortal! That I'm about to die! That I have mere seconds left until I--!"

Aragorn grabbed Legolas' wrist, forcing him to turn around, "You're right," he whispered. "I don't care. I don't care if you die along side of me, Legolas. It is not so fearsome a prospect. But I cannot stand to see you like this. There are things..." he loosened his grip on the elf's wrist, "I have faced worse than death. There is worse."

Legolas drew in a low, shuddering breath. "I will confront her. She can take nothing more from me. I have nothing to fear." He sat down, as did Aragorn. "At times, I feel nostalgic."

"Before the ring times?"

Legolas nodded, "And not only that. Before you times. Before any of this." He hummed under his breath, barely audible. With an abashed laugh he murmured, "It calms me." There was a brief pause, and then, "Aragorn. Sing for me."

The man feigned interest in the ground, "I don't think so. I don't sing."

"Don't you want to soothe me?" Legolas asked. There was another pause. "That didn't come out quite right."

"Indeed," Aragorn said, keeping his voice as stolid as possible. He cleared his throat. "You sing, then. You're always doing it on your watch."

"I only sing when no one's listening."

"Then what's the point?"

"I always sing my best when there's no one there to hear it. Did you ever hear me, Aragorn? Hear me crying?"

"I only heard you singing."

"Then you've not listened."

There was an easy silence as Legolas began to hum again under his breath, very soft. "And yet I don't feel any better," he whispered, almost self-pityingly.

"I know, but go on," Aragorn said. Legolas shrugged, continuing his serenade. Aragorn stood up and reached out his hand, giving a rakish smirk and arching one eyebrow. "May I?"

The song died on his lips, "May you what?"

"Dance. Come on, you'll feel better."

Legolas slowly burned, "I-I don't...That's not...No, Aragorn..." Futile protestations gave way to logic. "We don't have any music."

"Then you're not listening."

Legolas craned his neck. He heard nothing but silence, the rustling of leaves intermingling with the rushing of water and the hush of the wind. The man scarcely touched him as Legolas entwined his fingers together behind Aragorn's neck. "Somehow, no matter how harmonious the air is, it's still no song. And without a song, I cannot..." He trailed off as Aragorn wrapped his arms around his waist.

"Then sing."

Legolas flushed. "Can we just...stand still? I'm...I'm..." With a rush of bitterness Legolas slumped against Aragorn, his eyes stinging as he struggled to keep himself from crying.

"Scared?" Aragorn breathed.

And it was silent.

  
  


A pain shot through her back, like a whip was breaking the skin and fragmenting her rationale. It hurt and stung and cried and flinched. But it didn't bleed. Therefore, what proof was there? There is no redemption with an excuse. Without blood and tears there was no memory.

She screamed, but only a whisper came out. Don't. No. Don't Forget. No forgetting. And she yelled, quiet and calm.

She'd do it again until she had no memories left.

Only dismissal. Only hope. Only nothingness.

A warning...

What had she been saying again?

  
  


Legolas ran a finger along the curvature of his jaw, feeling the flutter of his pulse where throat meets chin. He blinked back dust, unaccustomed to the bleary, immature feeling of mortal awakening, as opposed to the glassy dryness he knew well. He shifted.

Another name...

He ignored it. After so many nights, it was simple to deafen himself to the words. They were beyond reach now. He was, after all, a mere mortal. 

He blinked his eyes, ready to fall back asleep. But this voice...this tone...he'd never bothered to really listen. He heard the names, discerned each word. But that voice; he'd never really heard it. So soft and rich and desperate and calm and soulful and surely his head was going to burst if it...it...it...

"Legolas?" Aragorn murmured.

"Don't touch me." Legolas got up, a smirk playing at his mouth. He touched a hand to his lips and said vaguely, "Why am I smiling?"

Aragorn bit back a sardonic reply as the elf whispered, " I don't know. You know, in the absence of anything else it seems that it's as good a thing to do as any. It's like talking to yourself, only no one bothers to look at you. No one points." He clenched his hand, "Don't come after me. I'll be right back."

He sprinted off before Aragorn had time to process the inane words into palpable sentences.

And Legolas could swear that he'd never run quite this hard in his entire life. It had never been so painful, the sharp tightness of his muscles and the hotness of his skin. But he'd never felt this burst adrenaline spurring him on. It was invigorating and refreshing like ice cold water pouring over his body. He didn't know how long he ran. Only that it was the fastest he'd ever run, and he'd never felt so tired in his life. Vanity. Everything boiled down to vanity. Everything he ever did, every act of charity, every step, every word...

It was vain. It was to supplement a meaning, to show himself that he was as stereo-typically fair as his immortal life sought him to be. 

"Galadriel," he said, trying to steady his voice.

She looked up, standing in her clearing, barely having the grace to look surprised by his presence. "You are tired. I apologize."

"Why did you call for me?"

She smiled, her fingers lacing a chord around her neck. "I did no such thing."

"I heard you. You pleaded...begged...you..." he struggled for words, "You warned me."

"Of what?" she echoed lightly.

Trembling, he pointed to the vial strung about her neck, "Of that. I don't know who it was, Galadriel. Only a name. Were you trying to save them? In some part of you, do you realize this?"

She bit her lip, composure slipping, "Quiet. I told you already. Stop this."

"No! Stop it! I'm sick of crying! I'm sick of this weakness! This horrible weakness where I can't sleep with open eyes and know the future before it happens and hear the trees as I walk among them...this horrible weakness where...I can...can..."

"Fall in love?" she asked shortly.

He flinched. "Nothing of the sort. I will never sink to that level. It ends where...hate and love are one. It is only in indifference that anyone can be free."

"Why do you deny yourself?"

"I'm not..." Legolas began, aware that she was provoking him.

"I thought perfection was beyond such things as lies. But then, you are not so perfect now, are you?" 

It was over before he'd the time to rationalize his actions. Wroth and brittle, Legolas snapped the chord from Galadriel's neck and threw it. With a soft clink it bounced off of the stone wall of the fountain and into the water. There was a hiss as it sank beneath the surface. Shards flew into the air, erupting in a jet of glass and wood. There was a short scream, maybe only in his mind; then choked, ragged breaths. He tasted blood and bile, rising in his throat. Barely audible, he gasped out, "It...wasn't supposed to break..."

"When you return anything to its source, it will break. Call it nostalgia. Call it memories." She placed a delicate hand on her collarbone. "Wrath."

Legolas staggered, "Are they...?"

She nodded curtly, "Your emotions do not bode well. Tell me, was it worth an innocent life to vent your anger, Legolas? Do you feel better?"

He clenched and unclenched his hand, feeling the bone pressing on his skin; wishing it would break and bleed and relieve him...

"I..." he croaked out disbelievingly. 

With another smile Galadriel said, "You might be rewarded after all. Unless you truly are above such concepts as love."

"As love?" he echoed. 

"I issue no warnings. And yet you claim to hear them. Tell me, what does it say?"

He looked at her pleadingly, lost and alienated. "I've told you...names..."

"You lie. Or you would not be so speechless at the moment."

"I did not hear the words tonight," he said in lieu of an explanation.

Her smile faded, "Oh? But that ampule you broke...I almost thought it purposeful. You seem to be brewing a potion. First such conceit, then sloth, then wrath...I merely took it for envy."

"I do not know what you speak of!" Legolas insisted.

"That vial. It belonged to someone you know. A princess, in fact." She shifted tones, more ariose and quiet, "They call her Arwen, daughter of Elrond."

  
  



	7. Shriving

A/N: PWP. Honestly, it's angst and fluff. But hopefully it's thought provoking angst and fluff. This was hard to write so I hope it's fairly in character... 

Oh yeah, I'm going on vacation next week for 10 days so it will be a while until the next update. I'm thinking one to three more chapters. It depends. Well, enjoy, review, you know the routine!

  
  


He stood very still. He stood tall and straight and noble, his fingers delicately spread against the trunk of the tree. And Aragorn looked up at him. 

"Would you mind telling me why you simply ran off like that? Legolas, your mortality has nothing to do with your emotions. You are still the same man you were days ago. But this...you don't even seem to be a new person. It's as if you are two souls, condensed into a single body. It's like..."

Legolas took a step closer, laying a finger on Aragorn's lips. "I'm sorry I ran away like that. There were certain suspicions that I had to confirm."

"Oh? And what were you told?"

"That I was correct," he replied with a shrug. "That I'm as naive and foolish as I always feared I would be." He shook his head. "God, that I'm as destructive and impulsive and rash as I always swore I would not be!"

Aragorn smirked, "Usually I'd tell you that I would kill to be as 'impulsive' as you. But lately I really must agree with you. I feel like..." He tossed his head, slightly bitter, "Like I hardly know you anymore."

"Do not take it so lightly," Legolas bit out, shielding his face with his hands, speaking muffled. "Don't...don't smile, Aragorn..."

"What's wrong?"

"I shouldn't have...shouldn't have...I'm sorry..."

"For running away? You don't do it often."

"No! No. Not for...not for running...for..." He took away his hand and desperately threw himself at Aragorn. His mind reeled. 

Solace.

Warmth.

Love.

He'd stolen it. The one provision he could never provide.

With a half-nauseating, half-blinding start, he pressed his lips against Aragorn's. He felt none of the cliched passion, none of the smoldering doubt, none of the sweet ecstasy he expected. He felt guilt. He felt numb. He felt skin against skin. His arms wrapped around the man's waist, pulling him closer. His lips moved against Aragorn's as feather light touches as he whispered, "I'm sorry..."

And where he expected a furious shove there was no force. Maybe, he thought, Aragorn would push him away, revolted. Maybe it would all end. A kiss, so little in its connotation, was enough to do that.

And then, where he thought there might be heat, there was nothing. Some part of his mind had toyed with the idea of confession and touches, of Aragorn's tongue mapping the outlines of his mouth like a compass.

But, nothing.

The man pulled back, gently. "Legolas, what happened?" 

Legolas bit his own lip. He wanted to kiss him again. To beg for hate or love. Just hit me. Just hug me. Just rebuke me. Just ravish me. Just scoff at me. Just seduce me. Just...just...just...

"Aragorn..."

No. The line between love and hate could not be drawn at indifference.

"I can tell. I can tell that something's wrong. It was in your posture when you stood, and in your lips when you kissed."

Legolas ran his fingers over his lips. "I told you...I have nightmares...They haunt me in the day as well. They whisper and taunt...they cry within my head...like they're dissecting my mind and body..."

"I learned. Learned how to block them. How to pretend I didn't hear the names. But that voice! It was always with me. Never...never..." he faltered, "It's trivial. All of it. Aragorn." He snapped his head up, staring directly into the ranger's eyes. "If loving someone is willing to die for them. Willing to sacrifice everything for them. Willing to endure anything to appease them, then please tell me. Did you love Arwen?"

"Legolas, we already..." he paused, "Did?"

  
  


It was raining. The cold, teasing touches of liquid against skin. Touching then flinching away. Tangible then melting away in a moment. Some stayed. Some slid down his skin while some just sort of dissolved into his skin.

Don't touch me.

There is no such thing as a mistake.

There is only spite. There is only irony. There is only this. And the fact that...

"I made him cry," Legolas whispered desperately, "I made him hit me. I made him leave me. I've killed two people in one day. Tears are so...helpless. They come and come and make you think you'll feel better. But you don't." He touched his face. It still stung. Just as well. He almost wished Aragorn had done something more permanent. More painful. //Good. Make me repent. Don't let me forget this.//

No matter how much you say you'll protect someone, there's always some way to break a promise. No matter how many promises you make, how genuine and sweet they are, there's always something that might snap them. "I promised myself...to protect all of them. And I'm just falling, faster and faster. I pledged myself. And it was a lie."

Saying the truth is always the right thing to do. Everyone tells you that. And when you tell it, there's this empowered, embittered, conflicted feeling within you. If it's right, why do these tears make it feel so wrong? "I told him. I told him the truth. About Galadriel. About him. About Arwen. About m..." Legolas shook his head. No. There's no use lying now. "Not about me. What was there to tell about me anyway? I callously destroyed her life. I don't deserve an explanation. I don't deserve some staged, rigid excuse for my actions." 

Nothing justifies death except justice. Or possibly mercy. And, which do you place before the other?

It's funny, really. How something can happen and seem so cataclysmically horrible. And then you think about it, and it rains, and it's cool and refreshing and suddenly it hasn't been moments but eons. And you just can't let it //go//.

Legolas got up. He'd probably been sitting still for mere hours. Grief, while sporadic, is not fleeting. With a start, he stood up.

For the second time that day, he ran. But it wasn't tiring and stressed or tense this time. It was velvety and rushed and...Oh, God...

"Aragorn."

The man looked up. He hadn't moved an inch. His face was streaked with tears. Guilt clenched Legolas' chest. Suddenly, he felt them on his skin. Water, everywhere. And for all the dry sobs and stinging eyes, nothing had felt so real and desperate as this.

"They say that we hear everything," he whispered, voice breathy, "No matter if we're not listening. No matter if we can't remember it on command. Somehow it's there. Somewhere, stored in our mind. It's...what am I saying? I..." He stumbled forward.

"I swore to protect you. And I lied. You're hurt. I'm hurt. The fellowship has broken. But I won't break anymore promises to you, Aragorn. I...I swore also to tell you everything. About this. About you. About me. And now I seem to be out of words. Look, without my immortality, I'm even getting stupid." He gave a raw laugh, so short it hardly made a sound. "This will sound so hypocritical...so fake...this is...so pathetic...that..."

He dropped to the ground, "I think...I'm in love with you. No, that's a lie. Another. I know it, Aragorn. God, I know it."


	8. Seducing

A/N: This is pathetically short...and I know everyone probably thought I'd given up. But actually I had exams and writers block which together are really bad for writing a story. So here's chapter 8, finally. One more chapter after this, I think. Again, I am truly sorry that this took so long. Enjoy, and the next one will be much faster, especially if you let me know what you think! Yeah, I know I ask a lot, but it cheers me up and keeps me writing. Humor me?

This is dedicated to everyone who asked me to continue and who's still reading this even though it took a ridiculous amount of time to post this.

  
  


He knew there would be no passionate agreement, no cavalier acceptance and no heartfelt relief. But, it felt okay. It was said. It was over. Now he could say it was in the past, and when anything is in the past it's over with. That's why we do anything. For it to become past. 

But there was still the future.

"I can't bring her back," Legolas said finally. 

"I wasn't expecting you to."

He bit his lip, "I can't atone for her death."

"I was not asking you to."

Legolas clenched his hands into fists at his sides, barely suppressing a shiver, "Aragorn, I cannot do anything. Because it's in the past, there's nothing I can do for you." With a twinge of guilt, he corrected himself, "For her."

"Then do something for yourself, Legolas." 

The elf winced. "Nothing, there's nothing I can do!" If Aragorn was listening he gave no sign of it. "For you though...I will. I will do something."

He sprinted off.

  
  


"I'm not proud of coming back here."

"You want me to tell you what you can do? Legolas, I'm hardly in the position to do so. Look at me-fallen. Disgraced. Weak." Galadriel shrugged, her skin so translucent and pale that she looked drained and sickly. He turned away. It was sad to see such change. Immortality had never allowed him that before. "And you as well," she continued crisply, "A mortal and a man. How our people have changed."

"Taunt me as you will. I don't care. Your words don't touch me."

"I know that you cannot hate me, Legolas. No matter what I say my words won't anger you, simply because you loathe yourself too deeply. How much do you hate yourself now, Legolas?"

His hands clenched at his sides, "Plenty." A bitter smirk played on his lips. "But, my lady, you forget that my loving a mortal is no longer a sin-I, too, will die. And I was thinking about that. I was thinking and thinking about how it would feel to die. And I never thought about it before."

He reached out his hand and took Galadriel's hand. Their fingers intertwined together. The tension broke and ebbed away to silence and heat. "Your waterfall...I was thinking how I could destroy it."

She turned her hand over, twisting his with it. "Of course you were. Did you hate me? For putting life in water, whose flow will never cease?"

"No...just a little...perhaps...because I hate myself and we are so alike." He laughed, "And because I hurt Aragorn and without you I'd never have. Tell me..." His grip tightened and his fingers roamed to the small of her back, pulling her close, "...what's done this to you? You look pale. I feel like I could press my hand against you," he pulled her closer, "And you'd snap at the waist."

Galadriel arched an eyebrow and shivered, "I know not what you speak of."

"But you do."

She pulled back, abruptly, but his fingers were latched about hers in a vice-like grip. Legolas' arm had snaked around her waist, deviously knavish. She felt like her entire body was broken and maimed, but realized that only a dagger protruded from her stomach. Blood trickled from her lips, pooling at her throat. She coughed. Legolas' hand embraced her own. 

"I didn't even notice," she whispered, words hardly faltering. She was flushed and clammy and nervous. It befitted her, somehow. 

"I didn't mean you to," he replied. "But in death, you can be immortal once more. Truly the Lady of the Woods."

She sank to the ground like water; fluid, her movement rubbing satin on velvet. Legolas knelt next to her. Softly, he said, "It was only you who made this mundane land something so extraordinary. Where there was no weather, only sky. No elements, only light. Nothing but perfection. And without you-it too will be mortal."

Galadriel choked back any words, pulling her hand from his, holding it close to her chest. "Nothing made me do anything. I wanted to, inside. Wanted...more..."she coughed again, "The torture...was not what...turned my head..."

"I know it. You are too strong for that."

The sky darkened and thunder screamed in the distance. 

And it rained.


	9. Escaping

A/N: I honestly was not intending to finish this but I was reading a recent review and felt really disappointed with myself for just stopping, one chapter from the end. So here it finally is! Thanks to everyone who read, and everyone who put up with my horribly irregular updating. I have no idea what I'll do next, but we'll see. I hope you've enjoyed it.

As always: ASK.Gravitation@verizon.net

  
  
  
  


"It's funny-but I never noticed the blood before. It must have been there, only I never really saw it. It was death, but it wasn't so final. And so bloody..." The elf shivered.

Aragorn bit his lip. "And so it goes. What happens now?"

"Now?" Legolas leaned down, pushing his hair over his shoulder and cupping his hands into the fountain's water, "We drink." He sipped the liquid. And in some part of him, he was hoping to drink immortality again, hoping to die from the poison that was once there, hoping against hope...

"Just water," he whispered, shaking the droplets from his hands and wringing the cuff of his sleeve.

Aragorn kneeled next to him. "A mortal earth. I never would have toyed with the notion."

Legolas averted his eyes, "There are worse things than eventual death. I see that now. The earth...has millions of years to go. It needn't fear its demise quite yet."

There was no visible difference, really. The trees still parted at random intervals, allowing the light to splatter on the grass and moss like paint. The vines climbed the trees, some whispered endearments and embracing the trunks, some choking the very life away. By looking at the water you'd never know that it was only copying the sky. Only now, a few blades of grass crunched with movement, instead of rustling. Now, there was wind and rain and crickets and sky but no voices. That ballad that seemed to engulf and regurgitate nature eternally had been silenced. And that, perhaps, was not even noticeable to the one who had heard it every day of their life for 100 years.

"I think," Legolas said suddenly, "That I was trying to redeem myself, rather than avenge myself. I'd like to think so, anyway."

"I believe it."

"She was tortured to betray her people-by blood and by her own guilt. But I think her guilt did her in. It should be the 8th sin. It's so complicated, so manipulative," Legolas sighed wearily, looking at his lap, "There is nothing we can do for the souls already caught. But we can slay the orcs that wear them."

Aragorn shook his head, "I will never slay an orc that wears a chain about his neck, for fear that I will cut your throat as well."

Legolas smiled meekly, "Point well taken."

"Stand up."

The elf obeyed, brushing himself off. Aragorn stood up as well. He grabbed a handful of his tunic and pulled him towards him, kissing him with almost bruising intensity. His hand clenched at Aragorn's back, his other arm winding around his neck, determined to never let go. Legolas felt like he would choke on the pure fierceness of it. And then he realized it wasn't that which was making him hurt. It wasn't the slight pain, the dizzying sweetness or even the unyielding desire that was surging within him. It was this finality that he tasted in his mouth, sharper than any blood. That it tasted to completely of goodbye.

He pulled away, licking the corner of his mouth and tasting the tear he hadn't known he'd shed. "This is it then."

Aragorn shrugged. "Give me your hand."

He shuffled through his bag and pulled out a long quill, dipping it in a small pot of ink. Legolas held out his hand. Aragorn took it, turned it palm down and scribbled across it hurriedly. He clutched Legolas' hand for a second, then let go. Legolas did not look down.

"We'll be in touch. You're a great man. Elf. Both."

Legolas smiled halfheartedly. "Don't forget."

"I couldn't if I wanted to." 

Legolas handed him a corked bottle. "Water, for the road." His words were short but held so much more than the promise of a drink. "So you can slake your thirst." He bit his lip, looking away. "Remember, I meant what I said. That I do..." his lips formed the words but they wouldn't become sound.

Aragorn nodded. "I know." He backed up, waved, and began to walk. Legolas stood still until he couldn't hear the shuffle of boots on leaves. He drank in the vacuum until it filled him up.

His hand was clenched into a fist. Smeared ink from so many days ago was still on his palm. On the other side, it read, //Nothing is forever.//

Legolas sank to the ground. The wind pounded in his ears as the sweet scent of decaying earth and wood infiltrated the air. 

His eyes fluttered closed. It was funny how nothing could make him cry so much.

  
  


If you read this far please let me know what you thought!


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